Page 64 of The Pretenders of Copper County
“It’s about me having all the information I can get on the situation,” I said, injecting a little righteous anger into my tone. “It’s about me not getting a callback for ten goddamn days while the Division left me twisting in the wind. It’s about no one thinking to share this info about the EvanovichesorNicky Knives until now so that I don’t know where the fucking threats against my protectee are coming from or if I’m wasting my time over here. Are you really questioning me, Janissey, after I prevented this assignment from turning into a massive clusterfuckyouwould’ve had to answer for?”
Janissey sighed. “No. You’re right. You’re a good agent, Sunday, and I owe you one. I’ll talk to the Marshals and get you a copy of Dante’s agreement today. My word on it.”
“Good. And keep me updated onanythingregarding this case. If Dante so much as twitches, I want to know about it.”
“Fair enough. Look, I know this assignment has been a shitshow,” he offered. “I take full responsibility for that. We should never have gotten so short-staffed. We shouldn’t have been forced to let untrained people take support roles?—”
I blew out a breath. “Not entirely on you,” I protested. “That shit’s above your pay grade.”
“Yeah, well. This isn’t the first time the Powers that Be have gotten their priorities fucked, and it won’t be the last. Next time you call, Sunday, I’ll answer. Security Through Trust, right?”
This,this, was why I’d spent so much of my life with this organization. Not because of the higher-ups and their questionable priorities but because of the incredible menand women I’d worked with over the years. Because I’d felt like I was a part of something. Something big. Somethinggood.
“Right.” I stretched my shoulders, trying to dislodge the nagging tension there. “Thanks, Janissey.”
“Sure. Oh, hey, before I forget, I got a message for you from your family. They called the emergency ‘think tank’ number a few days ago, but the message got routed tomyinbox somehow, and I didn’t see it until?—”
“My family?” I interrupted, tension returning. “What was the emergency?”
Was it Uncle Drew? He was getting older, but he’d seemed fine when I’d left just over a week ago. Had something happened to Emma? Was Hawk in trouble? Was little Aiden okay?
“I dunno, man. Message just says Knox Sunday?—”
“Why did they call you and not me?”
But I already knew the answer. They’d called the Division because I didn’t carry my personal cell phone while I was on assignment. They couldn’t get hold of me because I was busy working.
The idea that they’d needed medaysago and I hadn’t known was an acidic burn in my gut, and it was tempting to vent my frustration at Janissey, but it wasn’t really his fault any more than the other fuckups this week had been.
Besides, I was the one who’d chosen this career and then chosen to hide the truth of it from my family. I’d been the one who’d not only put distance between myself and the people I loved but erected a wall of lies between us.
This was entirely my fault.
“Gotta go, Janissey.”
I jabbed the End button and quickly dialed my brother.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHRIS
“So,the thing is, Ms. Dorian, I’m not really sure I qualify for a library card,” I said as she held open the library’s thick walnut door. “I don’t actually live here. We’re just staying at the campground temporarily. So…”
“Learning is a lifelong endeavor, Mr. Sunday,” she said firmly. She peered at me over the top of her glasses. “And there’s no better way to learn than to read, is there?”
“Uh… well, no, that’s true,” I agreed. “It’s just… I don’t have ID or an address.”
“You leave that to me,” she whispered to me as she led me past a sitting area with comfortable couches and chairs to the circulation desk. The building was hushed and quiet this early in the day, but the silence held all kinds of happy potential. Dust motes floated in the sunlight streaming through the window, making the polished wood shelves that ringed the room positively gleam. “The upside of being known around O’Leary asDragonDorian is that no one in town will question me.” She shot me a wink.
I laughed out loud before clapping a hand to my mouth to muffleit, and she smiled her approval.
“Now,” she said, turning on her computer. “Name… Chris Sunday.”
I nodded.
“Address… we’ll use the campground for now,” Ms. Dorian went on. “And date of birth?”
I mumbled out the date.
